The Edge of Misery: The Mitchel Brothers Series Book Two

16

"Now what?" She grumbled, adjusting her hands on the grips and staring at the floor.

"Try walking—don't put any weight on your right leg, though. And go slow; I don't want you falling."

"Do I move first or the crutches?" She frowned at him, bending her right leg at the knee so her foot hovered over the floorboards.

Declan hesitated and rubbed his neck, trying to remember the machinations from when he'd spent months using the damned things, then clapped his hands together in victory and said, "Put your good leg forward first—not too far, yup. Then the crutches... now swing your body to meet... it's just those two moves, repeated."

"But in a dress," Wren grumbled.

"Well, I wouldn't mind you staying in your underwear," he teased, moving aside as she made a slow pass toward the opposite end of the room, "but you might feel a little uncomfortable in front of everyone else walking in and out downstairs, especially with the colder weather and all."

Wren snorted a laugh and glanced at him over her left shoulder, "I was thinkin' more along the lines of wearin' some of Dorsey's old clothes packed away in one of the trunks in the attic."

"Try turning," he mumbled, distracted by the sudden mental picture of Wren's backside adorned by a pair of trousers.

"How do I do that?" She asked at a standstill, her head bowed.

Declan cleared his throat, forced a swallow, and then raked a hand through his hair. "Plant one of the crutches—"

"Does it matter which one?"

For the life of him, he couldn't remember. Every coherent thought had scattered from his mind like dandelion fluff in a wild gust of wind. "I don't know... whichever way you want to turn, I think."

"I thought you had months on end of experience," She teased, then squared her shoulders and added, "I'm plantin' my right one, so I'll turn right. Now what?"

"Want me to show you? " he chuckled, rubbing his face before walking up behind her and settling his hands at her waist. "It'll probably be easier than me trying to explain."

She tipped her head back to look at him, and Declan suddenly found his oxygen in short supply.

"You all right?" She asked in a bare whisper, her gaze drifting from his eyes to focus on his mouth as her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. "You sound distracted."

The combination of it all was his undoing.

In the space of a few heartbeats, he muttered an oath, cradled her in the crook of his left elbow, and buried his other hand in the hair at the back of her head, holding her prisoner while claiming her mouth with ravenous ownership and drank from her lips as though his entire being was as parched as desert sands, and she was his desert oasis.

The contact of her warm, soft lips against his released dizzying swarms of butterflies in the pit of his stomach, made his heart threaten to explode from his chest, and sent euphoria rushing through his veins.

Wren allowed the crutches to clatter to the floor unheeded as she turned and faced him, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with unadulterated fervor that thrilled him to his soul, made his knees quake, and curled his toes in his boots.

They stripped one another bare with frenzied greed, tossing their clothes to the floor, uncaring where anything landed; then Declan's hands roamed from the smooth skin of Wren's neck to her bottom in a desperate, futile attempt to draw her closer despite knowing no matter how hard he tried, he'd never get enough of her.